Accidental Prayer
by Sammy's Missing Shoe
Summary: First he loses his brother, then he gets shot and kidnapped and tortured by Men and Women of Letters for information about his life. Today was a rough day for Sam Winchester. As you can expect, excessive hurt&tortured!Sam, based off of season twelve trailer and promotional pictures. Just my speculation/wishful thinking, I own nothing.


**AN:** This fic demanded to be written once I saw the season 12 promotional photos, so I wrote for six hours straight, finally finishing at 2:30 in the morning. Worth it. So before you get too worried about this just being a plotless torture fic, rest assured, Sam is found by the end of the fic, so stick it out with me ;) I'm basing this off of literally almost every clip I saw of Sam in the preview, but one idea I didn't get to was how it looked like the woman of letters had a needle in her hands, and later how it looked like Sam had black eyes. I could be completely wrong, but I'm wondering if they maybe inject Sam with demon blood as a torture, but I just did that in my last story, so I veered away from it this time. Hope y'all enjoy!

* * *

Sam was having about the worst day of his life. Not only did he lose his brother and get shot all in one day, but he'd also been promptly stuffed in the back of a van with a gag in his mouth, been forced to undergo impromptu surgery when the same bitch that shot him took the bullet, none too gently, out of his knee and tied a cloth around it to staunch the bleeding, and now he was on his way to God knows where to have God knows what done to him. But it was still obvious which of all those pains hurt the most.

As much as Sam might not have protested had Toni actually killed him, Sam knew he still had a job to do. After Amara had blasted him out of Cas' body, Sam knew Lucifer was still alive. Him actually being dead would have been too great a blessing. Maybe Sam could get rid of him once and for all the same way Dean had taken out Amara. A final blaze of glory, and maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to join his brother in the Empty.

That almost tauntingly blissful thought was interrupted when the van Sam was trapped in suddenly slammed to a halt. Sam's body rolled forward at the stop, harshly colliding with the seats in front of him, a grunt of frustration slipping past the gag. He heard the driver's side door open, and then shut. He hoped he'd at last reached his last stop, because after so many hours of being forcibly crammed into this position, he'd lost pretty much all feeling in his limbs.

Relief mixed with slight dread flooded him when the trunk door opened, revealing the driver of the van looking down at him with what appeared to be both disgust and anticipation.

Sam was sore as hell, and even more afraid, but he still struggled and jerked forward in his restraints, showing that he was not just going to lay down and take this. He was a Winchester, and that meant that no matter how broken he was on the inside, he was gonna always keep fighting.

Struggles aside, the guy, Sam decided to call him Asshole, reached out and grabbed Sam by the back of his jacket, and yanked him out of the van. This was it, his chance at escape. First he just had to take out Asshole, and then he'd deal with Toni who was still perched in the passenger seat, apparently not a huge fan of getting her hands dirty.

Plan formulating in Sam's head, he braced himself for a fight. But the second his legs touched the ground, he was quickly reminded of the gunshot wound that had gone completely numb in the car, and he collapsed onto the hard and unforgiving gravel driveway. He pinched his eyes shut, panting heavily against the gag, hands tensing into fists as he heard laughter from above him.

"Escaping's not an option, trust me, kid." Asshole said with a smile, kneeing beside Sam. "But, if my research has told me anything, it's that you don't give up, no matter how hopeless it is. You can't really walk, and I'm in no mood to put up a fight to get you all trussed up for our- specialist. So. Let's just make this easier on both of us."

Sam didn't even see the fist flying towards him until it was too late. He dreamt of Dean.

* * *

Sam woke up even more sore than earlier. He'd not even opened his eyes when discomfort forced him from his almost peaceful sleep. He tried to stretch his overextended muscles, but his hands moved only a few inches before he heard a clang, and then they stopped moving. His eyes instantly snapped open, and he saw that he was in some kind of cellar, tied- no, _chained-_ to a chair. Out of instinct, he thrashed to test his restraints, but whoever had tied him up knew what they were doing. All his struggles got him were wrists rubbed even more raw than before, the icy steeled handcuffs cutting into his skin. A chain looped around the cuffs, and wrapped around each ankle, binding them to the legs of the chair. This could only end well.

"Finally." Huffed an unfamiliar voice from behind him. Sam tried to crane his neck to find the speaker, but she remained out of sight. Then he heard the clicking of her heels on the concrete floor, and soon a woman with dark brown hair pulled into a tight bun was staring at him with eyes so cold that Sam briefly doubted that she was human, but then he took in all the warding around the room, and knew that it would've been impossible for her to have been anything else.

"The great Sam Winchester himself." She commented. "Never dreamed I'd have the honour of meeting you in person. The stories are one thing, but seeing you here. Opportunity of a lifetime."

Even if Sam had possessed the ability to speak, he wouldn't have said anything in response to that. He wasn't exactly in the mood.

"Oh, I'm being rude, aren't I?" She asked. "I know your name, but you don't know mine." She extended her hand out to him. "You can call me Ms. Watts." She paused for a moment, and then frowned. "Oh, so you won't even shake my hand? Now who's being rude?"

Sam huffed, tensing in his chains in frustration.

"Alright." She brushed her hands on her black jeans. Sam then realised how she was wearing all black. He wondered if that meant she was being a bad guy cliché, or if she was hoping not to get her clothes dirty… She made her way behind him, and roughly yanked the gag out of his mouth.

He licked his lips. "What do you-" He was cut off with a swift and harsh backhand, and the ring she was wearing split open the skin of his cheek.

"Rules." She stated plainly. "I ask the questions here. The only thing I want to hear from you are answers to said questions. Anything else, and you get to experience my- talents."

Sam scoffed. "Lady, I did time in the Cage with Lucifer. There's nothing you can do to me that hasn't been done a thousand times."

Her first response was another vicious backhand. "You broke rule number two. Although it does remind me of my first question. How exactly did you break out Lucifer's Cage? According to Carver Edlund's books that Cage is unreachable without the rings of the four horsemen, and Dean certainly didn't pull you out. So. Who, or what, did?"

Sam simply hardened his expression in answer, nostrils flaring in anger. He wasn't feeling up for a monologue, especially not to the people who had shot him and banished Cas. Sam hoped he was okay. He considered praying to him, but with the warding on his ribs added onto the fact that he had no idea where he was meant there wouldn't have been much that Cas could done.

Again, Ms. Watts sighed, and then got up. She moved over to a rather large wooden box, fiddling with whatever was inside, and Sam had a feeling he wasn't going to be too happy with anything she pulled out of it.

Expecting to be displeased with the results didn't make it any easier when he saw the flicker of a blue flame ignite at the edge of a blowtorch.

Ms. Watts crouched in front of him, the flame barely a foot away from him as she spoke.

"I don't care what you endured in Hell, because we have resources and books that predate Christ himself, and back then people cared a lot less about human rights, so don't think for a bloody second that this is something you'll be able to tough out for a few days, and then be set free. You will suffer, Sam, you _deserve_ to suffer, but I'm willing to let you off a bit more easily if you would just answer my question. So I'll repeat myself."

The flame suddenly moved mere inches from Sam's neck, and he started sweating profusely, both from the heat and the fear. God, he missed Dean.

"How. Did you. Escape the Cage?" She repeated.

Dean may not have really been around, but Sam could hear his big brother's voice clear as a bell ringing in his head, convincing him to use some form of humour to hide his terror.

"I asked nicely." He answered.

Ms. Watts' hand immediately snaked out and grabbed Sam's hair, exposing the delicate flesh of his neck. Sam felt the flame creep closer until he swore he heard his sweat sizzling off of his skin. He braced for the flame to make contact, closing his eyes and tensing for a pain he could in no way really prepare for. He waited for a few seconds longer before he realised that nothing was happening.

His head was then released from her grip, and then he let out the breath he didn't realise he was holding.

"No." She mused aloud. "Wouldn't want to damage that pretty skin so soon, would we?" Ms. Watts clicked off the flame, and headed back to that dreaded trunk. Sam heard her rummaging some more, and then she turned back around, this time holding a-

O-Oh, God…

Apparently his fear was blatant, because for the first time, Ms. Watts smiled. "I take it you know what this is then?"

Sam said nothing. He feared that if he opened his mouth some embarrassing sound like a whimper or even a plea might escape.

"Let me clarify for you. There's a lot of misconceptions surrounding this fascinating instrument. It's a variation of a cattle prod. Many assume that all cattle prods have been electrified, which is not the case. They originated as a long tube with small prongs at the end to either poke or strike the cattle in order to get them to move.

"But," She pushed a button on the long weapon, causing a blue light to spark between the two prongs at the end. "That was the older model. Modern technology just can't be beat, can it?"

This wasn't a usual thought Sam had in these situations, but Sam hoped she never stopped talking. Maybe then there'd be enough time for Dean to find hi-… Oh. Right. He swallowed.

"Now," She went on. "This adaptation of the cattle prod will administer a high-voltage, low current shock. What this means is that the shocks, as terribly painful as they will be, are not fatal, which means we can keep this up as long as you stay conscious, or until you answer my questions. If I'm being honest," Her smile widened, and Sam tried to shrink back in his chains. "I hope that takes a while."

That said, she jammed the tool against Sam's side, and clicked it on.

She wasn't lying when she said the shock would be painful. Sam felt his entire body go rigid, hands and feet uselessly and helplessly jerking in their chains as the voltage flowed through him, making him choke on his pained cries, even as his throat muscles locked.

At last, she pulled it away from his side, her amused smirk still plain as day on her face.

"You just experienced three seconds of the prod's capabilities, Sam."

Sam couldn't help the whimper that passed his lips. Only three seconds?!

Ms. Watts chuckled. "Wasn't too pleasant, was it? Now, I'm assuming you don't want to feel that again, so why don't you go ahead and answer my question."

Swallowing, Sam forced out strength he in no way truly felt. "G-go to hell."

"Hm." Was all she said before she jammed the prod back against his skin. Only this time, she went straight for the bullet wound.

Throat locked or not, Sam found the energy to scream at the intense agony surging through him, teeth clenched together hard enough that he felt his cheek split open where he had accidentally bit into it. His limbs jerked spastically, only further jarring the prongs into his leg. He cried out miserably, tears forming in his eyes, and he fought the urge to let them fall.

When the current was turned off again, Sam's head dropped to his chest, unconsciousness claiming him once more.

He was sure that not even a full ten seconds had passed when he was woken by icy water splashing over his face, and drenching his shirt as well. He jerked into full alertness, sputtering and choking at the water that tried to trickle into his nose and mouth. He heard that accented voice that he'd grown to hate so much greet him.

"We weren't done yet, Sam."

If Sam wasn't too busy trying to remember how to breathe properly he would have rolled his eyes at her typical bad guy behaviour.

"One question, that's what you're enduring all of this for. Is it really worth it? Think carefully before you answer, because I believe you and I both know how well water and electricity mix."

Sam's heart fell again. This was so much different from the Cage. Then, he'd been suffering for a cause, he had stopped the apocalypse, saved the world, saved Dean. This time, it was for absolutely nothing more than a couple of nosy librarians who knew a little too much about the art of pain. But there were also similarities to right now and the Cage. Like then, he currently had no hope of rescue. And that hurt more than a hundred electric shocks could have.

Well, at the very least it was a close second.

The universe then decided to take him up on the offer and prove him just how much pain he there really was to offer. Ms. Watts, ever the ironic name, stuck him with the prod once more.

Sam's vision went completely white as the water heightened the already agonising voltage sparking through his veins. The metal encasing his limbs and even the metal chair cooked whatever skin was exposed, sending Sam's body into seizures, voice breaking on the horrible shriek he was too helpless to keep at bay.

Sam's brain may not have been completely in the present, but he was conscious enough to know that she was keeping the prod held against him for much longer than a mere three seconds. His breaths started stuttering in his throat, unable to draw in a single gasp of air as his lungs jerked and cried out at this horrific torment.

When she pulled it away again, Sam wanted nothing more than to give into the darkness approaching his vision, but if this previous wake-up call was anything to go off of, he should try to stay conscious as long as he possibly could if he didn't want to endure this anymore than he already had. He still heaved in grateful gasps of air, each exhale sounding more like a sob than a breath, and he shamefully felt a tear or two trickle down his cheeks.

"You have exceeded my patience, Sam." Her voice seemed far too distant.

Sam briefly thought, " _What patience?"_ but he knew he wouldn't be able to get his voice to cooperate after all that screaming he'd done.

"I gave you the option," She continued. "But I'm clearly getting nowhere with being gentle with you."

This was gentle?!

"So you've left me with no other choice but to cause at least a little physical damage." She began scanning him, presumably looking for the best place to use the blowtorch she was now clutching tightly. She circled around him several times before stopping in front of him, an expression of false sympathy on her face as she glanced at his ruined knee.

"Looks like the bleeding hasn't stopped yet."

Probably has something to do with having a cattle prod shoved in it, bitch.

"What kind of amateurs pull out the bullet without properly cauterising it afterwards?" She shook her head. "Don't worry, I can fix it." She placed her hand on his knee, giving it a panful squeeze causing Sam to wheeze out a pained breath.

"Please don't." He whispered brokenly. Surely she couldn't be this heartless. He quickly realised how wrong he was when she ignited the flame, and held it against his leg. Sam was well beyond trying to remain quiet at this point, and let out a full-fledged scream. He tossed his head back against his seat, wishing he could hit it hard enough to knock himself unconscious to spare himself any more of this agony.

He felt his skin begin to crackle and blister as the fire ate away at his flesh, and he felt bile threatening to spill out of his throat at the awful stench. He gagged and choked on the air around him, inwardly praying for someone to save him from this nightmare.

"Sam, Sam, Sam." Ms. Watts admonished with a shake of her head, relieving his of the blowtorch's torture. "It's such a simple question, really. How did you escape the Cage?"

"I do believe I could answer that for him." Said an unfamiliar voice from beyond the cellar doors. They then flew open, and a man who looked almost distantly familiar began walking down the steps. It almost looked like- no, it w _as-_

"Rick Springfield?" Sam asked in utter confusion.

Rick- seriously, what the hell- chuckled. "Not quite."

"How did you get in here?!" Ms. Watts snapped.

"Hey, I thought you wanted to know about Sammy's time in the Cage."

How would Rick Springfield possibly know about- oh, God.

"L-Lucifer…" Sam whispered in horror.

"Y-you can't-" Ms. Watts stuttered. "We're warded against nearly everything supernatural-"

"'Almost' being the key word there, sweetheart. Not much can keep the Devil himself out, right, Sammy?" He shot Sam a wink at that.

"How did you find me?" Sam asked with a noticeable quake in his voice.

"Your thoughts. 'Someone please save me.' I qualify as someone, so here I am. Funny how an accidental prayer can lead me right to you, huh, bunk buddy?"

Clearly in a panic, Ms. Watts grappled for a weapon, but Lucifer merely sighed, and then there was a snap of fingers, followed by her neck. Which then left Sam alone. Bound. In some unknown place. With Lucifer. N-not again, please…

"What's up with the vessel?" Sam forced himself to ask in order to hide his horror.

"Desperate times, desperate measures, all that jazz. But then," He started moving towards Sam, and that was when Sam said to hell with masking his fear, and he began struggling and writhing in earnest to try to break free. "I get a call from my true and favourite vessel. I mean, what are the chances?" He giggled as he made his way behind Sam's chair and rested his arms on it, face far too close to Sam's.

"What do you want?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "The birthday party I never had. What do you think, Sammy?"

Sam swallowed. "It's still never gonna happen."

"Mm." Lucifer said, strolling over to the trunk, only heightening Sam's already uncharacteristically off-set nerves. "Well, seeing as how you and I both got nothing to do right now, and we've got this fun little box of toys at our disposal," He picked up the cattle prod, locking eyes with Sam's widening ones. "Let's see if I can't change your mind."

The Devil had Sam screaming within a few seconds, and begging within five minutes. He'd yet to say that special three-lettered word, but that was alright. If Lucifer had learned anything over his three thousand, three hundred and sixty years in the Cage with Sam, it was how to break him.

And break him he would.

* * *

 **AN:** I told you Sam would be found by the end of the fic. I never said by whom. Never trust an author, guys. You can thank M.J Ellsworth for inadvertently giving me this idea, and then go check out her work, it's wonderful. As y'all know, I just can't ever get enough of Lucifer hurting Sam, so that's why that little ending snuck in. And in case y'all weren't aware, Rick Springfield has been cast as Lucifer for this season. I personally don't think anyone can follow Mark Pelligrino or Misha's portrayal, but we'll see. It'd be awesome if this is how the first episode goes, but I pretty much know that won't be the case. Still, a girl can dream. Let me know what you thought, and until next time, carry on, my wayward sons!


End file.
